


close your eyes (feel the crash)

by fuckinghoechlin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP, Shotgunning, post 3b, scott is the hottest girl, uh idk what else, weedfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:57:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckinghoechlin/pseuds/fuckinghoechlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles doesn’t realize he’s called Derek until he hears, “Did something happen?” in his ear. He startles when Derek says his name again and he almost hangs up but instead stutters out, “No, yeah, hey, everything’s fine but Scott ditched me and <i>doyouwannagethigh</i>?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	close your eyes (feel the crash)

**Author's Note:**

> another fic for the full moon challenge, unbeta'd, written while listening to The Weekend's "High for This"  
> sorry if it sucks blah blah have fun thank you for reading!!

“Oh my god, are you serious? I forgot Valentine’s Day was even a thing and now- Scott, it’s a full moon, it isn’t even _safe_ to be around her tonight- hell yeah I’m fully aware I’m grasping at straws right now- fine, _fine_ , we can check out the pack tomorrow, have fun- shut up- be safe, I hate you,” and Stiles actually chokes himself a little on his irritated huff as he tosses his phone onto his bed, following it face-first and groaning.

He tries to ignore the tingle of disappointment itching under his skin, watches his fingers twitch against the comforter and glances back at his phone, bitter at being blindsided by _Valentine’s Day_ of all things, too caught up in lunar phases and omegas and the hollow relief still lingering from being rid of the nogitsune to remember some shitty commercial holiday. He tries not to dwell on it, avoids thinking about how keyed up he feels sometimes, the jolt he feels at his transient awareness of the phantom weight of the demon in the recesses of his mind. His fingers twitch toward his phone again.

Stiles doesn’t realize he’s called Derek until he hears, “Did something happen?” in his ear. He startles when Derek says his name again and he almost hangs up but instead stutters out, “No, yeah, hey, everything’s fine but Scott ditched me and _doyouwannagethigh_?”

In the pause that follows he backtracks a little, tries to make it less uncomfortable, “Wait, can you even get high? There hasn’t really been any time for Scott and me to test it, and we didn’t even smoke before given that he sort of had asthma and wow, Scott used to have asthma like, what, six months ago? Holy shit?” And now he wishes he hadn’t considered how little time had passed since Scott was bitten because he can feel his pulse coming faster, faltering a little before Derek says, “Well, okay, yeah, I can get high, and- you can come over if you really want to?”

It sounds like a question, hesitant and like Derek never stood up for him, like he had no part in _saving_ him, but Stiles shakes it off, tells him, “Be there in ten,” before hanging up and heading for the stairs.

\--

“So, Scott ditched you for Kira?” Stiles watches the milky cloud of smoke near Derek’s mouth before responding around the end of the blunt between his lips, “Yeah, but I wasn’t really up for a stakeout or whatever the hell tonight, and I’m happy for him anyway. Still get to live vicariously through him.”

He shrugs and inhales, closing his eyes against the burn in his throat before blowing out slowly and laying his head against the back of the couch. He can already feel himself settling, his skin fitting better without his bones pressing up against it.

Stiles smiles a little when Derek hums, low and long and he cracks one eye open to find Derek’s eyes on him, maybe on his mouth but probably not. “You ever try shotgunning?” he asks and suddenly there’s a buzzing in Stiles’ fingertips.

“No,” and the word scratches in Stiles’ throat and hangs lonely in the air so he says, “nope,” with a _pop_ on the end, which feels better, the emphasis easing some of the tingling in his lips.

“Really? Okay, come here,” Derek says as he reaches for Stiles’ wrist, tugging him across the cushions and wrapping a hand behind his thigh to pull it over his lap and suddenly Stiles finds himself straddling Derek, bracing his hands against his shoulders, kneading his fingers against the soft fabric of his t-shirt and the firmer muscle under it.

He blinks down at Derek’s small smile, the curve of his lips lazy and _nice_ and Stiles grins back down at him. “Wow, okay, hi,” and he brings his hand to Derek’s jaw because he needs to feel the scratch of his dark hair against his palm, learn the way it’s soft if he brushes his hand in the right direction, let it burn his skin and curl low in his stomach and just _touch_ without having to worry about surviving the next minute. Derek turns his head into Stiles’ hand, the movement so slow and easy Stiles almost misses it, and his eyes flutter a little at Derek’s mouth against his thumb as he asks for the lighter.

Stiles focuses on the way the end of the roll flares when Derek inhales, swallows against the cotton in his mouth and the roughness of his throat when he notices the tick in Derek’s jaw when he breathes. Derek curls his fingers around the back of Stiles’ neck, guides his face close enough and nods for him to open his mouth, which Stiles does, eyes closing as he breathes in, squeezing tighter when his nose bumps Derek’s.

He turns away and exhales, opens his eyes and finds Derek’s are half open, lids heavy and eyes dark and wow yeah he is totally staring at Stiles’ mouth, okay. Stiles makes a needy noise in the back of his throat, shifts against Derek’s thighs and drags his fingers through the hair above the nape of his neck and tugs a little.

Derek nods, takes another hit and lets Stiles lean toward him, groans when Stiles seals his mouth over Derek’s but he’s careful to control his breath, his exhale still smooth and burning Stiles’ throat just right. He licks into Derek’s mouth, laughs a little at the startled noise Derek gives before pushing against him, dragging his hand down Stiles’ back to the hem of his t-shirt and then under, nails like needle-points in his bare skin. Stiles bites down on his bottom lip and rolls his hips forward and he huffs again at the rumbling in Derek’s chest under his hand.

He isn’t prepared for the way the whole world tilts in the next second but he opens his eyes to the industrial ceiling of the loft and the feeling of Derek’s stubble rubbing under his jaw, teeth biting sharply into his collarbone, the odd sensation of Derek breathing deeply as he trails down Stiles’ abdomen, taking the hem of Stiles’ shirt in his teeth and dragging back up until Stiles helps him work the shirt all the way off. Stiles finds his hands insistent against Derek’s chest, pushing him far enough so he can get his shirt off too and he throws the balled up fabric across the room and surges forward to bite at his pec and Derek hisses, presses him further into the couch with his hips. Stiles arches into him shamelessly, groaning at the way his jeans rub against his dick.

It’s not enough, nowhere near enough, so he starts fumbling at Derek’s fly and everything feels so syrupy and slow and frustrating before Derek helps him with both of their pants and then everything is just the hot slide of Derek’s hand on his dick, fingers firm and giving slow pulls that drag quiet gasps from Stiles.

He shakes a little when he takes Derek’s cock in his hand, but he matches his rhythm, the steady tug and squeeze and Derek finds his mouth again but they can’t move them right, their lips just sort of catching on each other as they share breath, noses brushing and Stiles’ fingers curling tighter into Derek’s bare shoulder.

At some point Derek started panting out his name and Stiles kisses him sloppily, mouth wide and wet and red, tries to swallow his desperate whimpers, tries to swallow Derek whole because he can’t get close enough, can’t press his skin to Derek’s tightly enough. He’s been talking the whole time, can’t help it, mostly stuttering “Oh my god, oh my fucking _god, Derek,”_ and Derek sucks his tongue just as his thumb presses against the head of Stiles’ cock and then Stiles is coming, shouting out as his toes curl, knees against Derek’s sides. Derek follows right after, shuddering, and Stiles’ name is guttural and filthy in his ear. Derek’s muscles tense under Stiles’ hands before he goes limp and heavy on top of him, but it’s comfortable despite the sort of gross feeling of come cooling between them.

Stiles starts laughing then, rubbing circles into Derek’s shoulder blades and smiling into his temple, and he feels Derek’s eye crinkle against his mouth and then he just knows, knows they’ll be fine and that this meant the same thing to both of them and suddenly Derek’s weight is softer against his chest.

He’s eventually giggling kind of hysterically, but he also kind of doesn’t give a shit, and he can’t help but laugh out with Derek’s fingers running through his hair, “Happy fucking Valentine’s Day, Scott.” 

**Author's Note:**

> oh, title is from "Super Rich Kids" by Frank Ocean
> 
> also, prompts are in progress i just had to get this done first since the deadline was today, thanks again, and i'm at mrthelma.tumblr.com as always!


End file.
